Across Arda's Ages
by Rhyselle
Summary: A series true drabbles set in J.R.R. Tolkien's Arda, spanning the scope of his creation, for NaQuaWriMo. A new drabble for each day of November 2010. UPDATED! #13 - Patience, #14 - Filemot, #15 - Thief.
1. Nov 1:  Why

_**A/N: **What is NaQuaWriMo? It's National Quality Writing Month; an alternative to NaNoWriMo for those who find the thought of writing a 50,000 word novel in 30 days daunting. NaQuaWriMo asks for only 100 beautifully crafted words per day, either true drabbles, or other ficlets, standalone or mini-chapters that build into a story of at least 3,000 words by the last day of November. This year, I am trying to continue my past practice of writing true drabbles set in J.R.R. Tolkien's Arda. These will span the scope of his creation, from the Timeless Halls where Eru dwells, through the Ages until the Dagor Dagorath-the Final Battle which precedes the renewal of Arda at the end of time, as the muse directs._

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 1: Why (The Years of the Trees, Aman)

In Lórien, Finwë sat next to Míriel Serindë's motionless body, combing his fingers through his wife's dark hair.

"Fëanáro is growing so fast," he whispered to her. "He ever is running from one shining thing to another, his eyes wide and his fingers reaching towards them.

"I wish you could see him, flourishing, bright, and strong—and curious.

"His favorite word is 'why', Míriel, and I fear that I'll not be able to give him all the answers he seeks." His hand paused its stroking. "What do I say when he asks why you left us?"


	2. Nov 2: Boredom

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 2: Boredom (Post Fourth Age ,Tol Eressëa)

The sound of splashing, punctuated by shouts of "Not like that!" and "Haven't you ever heard of teamwork?" drew Elladan to the balcony overlooking Avallónë's harbor.

"Perfectionist Erestor?" he asked Glorfindel, who lounged on a chaise, reading in the sunshine.

Glorfindel nodded. "Of course. I'm surprised he doesn't have you out there, too."

Elladan cuddled his granddaughter against his shoulder, shuddering. He patted her on the back and replied, "You must think me a masochist!"

"Or you've finally developed some common sense."

"I'm certainly not bored enough to forgo babysitting for synchronized swimming!"


	3. Nov 3: Gratitude

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 3: Gratitude (Fourth Age, Anorien, Gondor)

"Don't go in there again! It's forbidden!" Damrod glanced nervously at the trees that loomed only a few yards away.

Halmir shrugged off his friend's hand and worry, and stepped towards the shadowed verge where a lightning-struck stump was enwrapped with a flowering vine. "I'm not going into the forest. But I made a promise."

Ignoring Damrod's continued protests, Halmir dropped to one knee and carefully set the sealed clay beaker on the flattened top of the stump, and called out softly, "A gift of thanks to Ghan-Buri-Ghan for the healing herbs that saved my daughter's life."


	4. Nov 4: Climbing

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 4: Climbing (TA 3019, Emyn Muil)

The paths go nowhere—at least nowhere that we need to go. So we climb, one foot in front of another, making a new path over ledge and ridge and precipice. Up and up, then down, first east, then south, then east again. Sam thinks it's the scent from the Dead Marshes I'm following.

I don't have the heart to tell him that it's the Ring that pulls me in the direction we need to go. Perhaps it thinks it's coming closer to home, and so is "helpful".

Another ridge before us. And so we climb once more—to Mordor.


	5. Nov 5: Spare

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 5: Spare (TA 2997, Minas Tirith, Gondor)

Erchirion snatched up a rock and flung it hard so that it skipped a half dozen times before it vanished into the depths of the fish pond. "It's not fair! I was supposed to go with Father to pick out my pony, not Elphir and Boromir!"

Another rock skipped across the pool, and he turned to see his cousin, who looked just as unhappy as he felt. "You got left behind, too."

"That's what happens when you're the spare," Faramir said, resigned, and gazed longingly over the garden wall for a glimpse of the Pelennor's horse fair.


	6. Nov 6: Biscuits

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 6: Biscuits (TA 3015, The Shire)

"You told your friends that my ginger biscuits weren't any good?" Estella shrieked.

"Well, not in so many words," Fatty prevaricated, wishing that he'd left the hole along with Frodo, Merry, and Pippin. He began to back away from his sister as tears of anger trickled down her cheeks.

"It amounted to that! I'm so humiliated! Everyone's—even Violet's!-biscuits got eaten—except mine!"

"Er, well, I'm sorry-" Freddie made a sudden grab for the full plate of ginger biscuits, and dodged out the dining room door, calling back, "But it left them all for me!"


	7. Nov 7: Supplication

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 7: Supplication (TA 1944, Gondor)

Ondoher took a deep breath and dropped to his knees as he reached his destination. Far below in the Citadel, his generals met for the last time before they left to face the Wainriders, but here, his voice rose in supplication.

"Oh, Eru, I pray you will preserve my people unto better days. Father of All, please give them the faith that the Darkness will always succumb to the Light."

At the end of his plea, he drew forth the seed from his pocket and planted it. "Give them hope," he whispered, and returned to his duty below.

_**A/N:** Ondoher was slain together with his eldest son and heir Artamir, and Gondor appeared defeated. The kingdom's fortune was reversed when General Eärnil, who had defeated the Haradrim, surprised the Wainriders and destroyed their army, ending their threat. With the deaths of Ondoher and his sons in battle, no direct royal heirs remained, so Arvedui of Arthedain claimed the throne of Gondor. Although Arvedui had a strong claim by his way of his wife Fíriel, who by ancient Númenórean law now should have become Ruling Queen, the throne was granted by the Steward Pelendur to the general Eärnil, a direct male-line descendant of King Telumehtar, who would reign as King Eärnil II._

_This decision led to the reign of the Stewards in Gondor due to Eärnur, Eärnil II's only son, going off to battle the Witch King of Angmar at Minas Morgul without leaving an heir. Ultimately, this led to the return of "hope" in the Return of the King, Aragorn Elessar Telcontar in TA 3019. (Author's Note info summarized from Wikipedia entry.)_


	8. Nov 8: Oaths

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 8: Oaths (Seventh Age, 1789, Cadiz, Spain)

"I'm sorry to leave you here to entertain yourself, Magnus; but the dinner is only for members," Tomas apologized as he attempted to arrange his cravat. "Master Rogier asked if you'd accept an invitation for initiation."

His dark-haired guest shook his head, crossing the room to push his host's hands away from the silk. As his scarred, deft fingers plucked it into perfect form, he replied, "I truly appreciate the honor, but I will swear no more oaths." As Tomas put his plumed hat on his head, Magnus looked down at his scarred hand and whispered, "They bring only grief."

**A/N: **_ Somehow inspired by my very recent re-reading of Katherine Kurtz's TWO CROWNS FOR AMERICA-how it managed to give me a scene with a Feanorian, I'll never know!_


	9. Nov 9: Terror

_**Disclaimer:** This fic was written solely for the enjoyment of the author and the readers, not for monetary gain. It is not intended to infringe on any rights belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema, or any other license holder of Tolkien-based intellectual property._

Nov 9: Terror (Seventh Age, 1897, England)

_aka "Thranduil's Wild Ride" inspired by Jael's "Not Fade Away" universe, and "THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS"_

Eyes tightly closed, Legolas Thranduilion held on, white-knuckled, as the left gatepost veered far too close for comfort. He was sure that the ends of his fair hair snagged against the stones before they were past it. How would he explain to Lord Bannoth that after surviving into the Seventh Age, he was killed by his father's new toy?

With a clatter and a loud bang, the Daimler Motorless Carriage came to a lurching halt before the doors of their home. Legolas cautiously opened his eyes to see his father beaming at him through his driving goggles.

"Wonderful, isn't it?"

**A/N: **_ I had this mental image during my morning commute of Thranduil driving madly through the little village near their residence in England before they moved to America, nearly knocking over market stalls, terrorizing chickens and housewives, just like the Disney cartoon "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride" from THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS. I couldn't resist._


	10. Nov 10: Secret

Nov 10: Secret (TA 3019, Summer, Dol Amroth)

Núradan opened the door to the innermost part of the dye works. A miasma of rotting fish and worse filled the air. "I salvaged all that I could after the black ships headed up the river, but most of the dye was ruined."

Imrahil asked. "Did they discover the tanks?"

"No, my lord. We fought them off." Núradan urged him to look over the railing at the many shallow, saline-filled pools that filled the room. Thousands of small mollusks crept across the stony bottom.

Imrahil smiled. "Then the secret of Dol Amroth blue is still ours."

**A/N: **_I postulate that the particular color of blue used in the heraldry of Dol Amroth is derived from a saltwater mollusk, much like the Tyrian Purple (aka Royal Purple) of our past was created from the secretions of a shellfish in the genus Murex, which inhabits the shallow waters of the Mediterranean Sea. It seems likely to me that the secret of how Dol Amroth Blue dye was made would be closely held, and that it would be of great concern to Imrahil that production of such a luxury good would be disrupted by the attacks of the Corsairs on the coastlines of southern Gondor. _

_Since we do not know how much damage the Corsairs did to Southern Gondor before Aragorn, the Grey Company, and the Army of the Dead fought them at Pelargir, I think it would have been one of the first things he checked on after he returned home after the end of Ring War and Aragorn's wedding._


	11. Nov 11: Hero

Nov 11: Hero (TA 3019, April, Minas Tirith)

"You there! With the broom!"

Doron set his broom against the wall, and turned to see a Guardsman on crutches hobbling awkwardly towards him. "Sir?"

"I wanted to say 'Thank you'."

"Thank _me_? Sir, I'm just the street cleaner."

The guard reached for Doron's hands and turned them palm up, revealing several ugly, barely-healed gashes. "You hauled those stones off of me after that barrage knocked me and my squad from the wall. I'd have lost my leg if not for you."

"Anyone would have-"

"But it was _you_ who saved me."

_**A/N:** Posted in honor of Veterans/Remembrance Day. In times of war, there are all sorts of heroes, especially the unsung ones._


	12. Nov 12: Departure

Nov 12: Departure (Second Age 3433, The Grey Havens)

Urhador shifted his daughter in his arms and surveyed the garden around their home. He would miss it sorely, especially the lavender blossoms that nodded by his wife's favorite bench, and he swallowed hard before he told Calathiril, "Say goodbye, little one. We leave tonight."

At the quay, Cirdan looked askance at the pot filled with lilies tucked in Urhador's right elbow, opposite the sleeping Calathiril in his left.

Urhador explained, "Calathiril wants to take them to her mother," then boarded the ship. Once they got to Tol Eressëa, they'd tend the flowers and wait for Idhorivor's Rebirth.


	13. Nov 13: Patience

Nov 13: Patience (Fourth Age, Tookland, The Shire)

"That's from when I jumped out of the haymow at Whitwell when I was a tween." Pippin pointed with his pipe to a scar on his left arm. "My cousins had just arrived, and I got impatient."

"Ouch!" Faramir asked, "What about those, Papa?", indicating the scars just visible above Pippin's furry feet, and on his wrists.

"That's a story for when you are older."

"But, Papa!"

"_Much _older." Pippin kissed Faramir on the brow and blew out the lamp. "I learned the hard way, patience is a virtue. Good night, son."


	14. Nov 14: Filemot

Nov 14: Filemot (Fourth Age, East Lorien)

Celeborn looked up from the letter he was writing as a leaf-laden breeze from the West blew in through the open window of his study. Leaves—beech, oak, and others—danced about the room before settling to lie in the corners and across the floor, as a final puff stirred his silver hair about his shoulders.

He shook his head, dislodging a leaf that had caught on the filigree circlet. It fluttered down to land on the parchment, smearing the wet ink.

Celeborn stared down at the dull brown mallorn leaf, and closed his eyes in grief.

Lothlorien had finally faded.

_**A/N: ** Filemot (FIL-mot) noun, adjective. The color of a dead or faded leaf: dull brown or yellowish brown. [From the corruption of the French term feuillemorte, from feuille (leaf) + morte (dead). Ultimately from Indo-European root bhel- (to thrive or bloom) that gave us flower, bleed, bless, foliage, blossom, and blade.]_


	15. Nov 15: Thief

Nov 15: Thief (TA 2985, The Marish, The Shire)

"That-that _Frodo Baggins_!" Mrs. Maggot planted her hands on her hips and glared at her husband. "_Five_ times he's raided our fields and made off with our crops! Now the best mushrooms are all but gone! You hear me, Mr. Maggot; you stop that sneak thief, or you'll be answering to me!" She whirled and stalked back into the house, slamming the door behind her.

Farmer Maggot nodded, and turned back to the ravaged field. Lads raiding fields was part of farming, but that Baggins, who was all but a Brandybuck, was taking it much too far!


	16. Nov 16:  Homesick

Nov 16: Homesick (TA 3018, Ithilien, Gondor)

A burst of laughter from the rangers seated near the hearth caught Faramir's attention.

"Meriel's kisses!"

"A feather pillow."

"The ale from the Golden Bell!"

"The girls down on the third circle."

One by one each chimed in.

"My mum's soup."

"Tucking my boys in."

"Warm water to wash in."

"My wife's smile when I come in the door!"

Before returning to his reports, Faramir indulged himself by thinking of what he missed most from his home.

_His books._

_Uncle Imrahil's smile._

_Mithrandir's lessons._

His smile faltered.

_His mother's portrait._

_His father's praise-no matter how sparing it was._

_Boromir._


	17. Nov 17:  Boots

Nov 17: Boots

"Why should we weigh down our packs with boots, of all things?" Pippin picked up the offending footwear and made a face. "I'd think by now, they'd know we don't wear shoes."

When he made to toss them aside, Boromir caught his arm and shook his head. "Take them anyway, Pippin. If nothing else, if you don't use them, you can trade them away once we get to Gondor."

Skeptical, Pippin stuffed them into the bottom of his pack. "If you say so, big man."

"I do."

On Caradhras' snowy slopes, he was glad he had listened to Boromir's council.

_**A/N: ** I, personally, don't believe that hobbits never wear shoes or protective footwear. No matter how tough your soles, extended exposure to snow and sub-freezing weather will cause pain and damage. Sometimes shoes, boots or pattens will be a necessity, even for hobbits. Elrond knew they planned to go over Caradhras, so I believe that he would have provided protective footwear for that part of the journey, even if Professor Tolkien never actually mentioned it in the text._


End file.
